


What Is It You See From Up There Always?

by Red252



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red252/pseuds/Red252
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gwyn’s world was entering a new era: an age of victory that had started to beget peace, even prosperity.  His unrest then was like that of all warriors in peacetime.  The Great Lord’s power, though immense, was ill-equipped for measured ruling.  What good was a new king with only soldiers to rule over?</p><p>His world needed stability.  Bounty.  Longevity.  It needed a kingdom to match the king it had chosen—and children to fill it.</p><p>Gwyn needed a child."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> General warnings for the entire work: explicit sex; implied rape/non-con; not-explicit violence and death; mind-control; Seath has toxic ideas about disability. Oh yeah, here be dragon porn, too. This is also meant to be a canon-compliant story (within interpretive reason), so...you know what that means, folks--no happy endings here. 
> 
> The title comes from Robert Frost's _Home Burial_
> 
> Please do not repost or share without permission. All comments and criticism are welcome! (Seriously, please talk to me.)  
> 

“Ah, hello your Grace, thank you for coming so promptly.”

Seath bowed his head, “My Lord.”  Lord Gwyn had summoned him urgently—and seemingly in secret, for he had sent one his Lord’s Blades directly to Seath’s study, bypassing all manners of the court.  This could surely be no official meeting, but neither did he seem to want conversation, for Gwyn himself always came to Seath for solace.  And the Great Lord was…pacing. 

Gwyn did not address Seath further, and began to mutter quietly to himself.

“May I ask why you summoned me, my Lord?”

Gwyn’s footsteps stopped.

“I am in need of your expertise, my friend.  You see, I…I wish to create another child.”

Seath frowned in confusion then responded, “My Lord, that would be a joyous occasion indeed, but I do not see how I can be of help to you.  Surely you could fashion another offspring just as you made your son?”

Gwyn sighed.  “Indeed, my friend, this was my thought as well.  But there are still many mysteries to this soul of mine.  And when I searched inside of it I could find no more fragments that could leave me on their own—not without a host, at least. I’m afraid my son will be my sole heir to the Sunlight, my friend.  And yet though I know my power cannot be replicated again, I have been plagued by the image of a child.  A real child, unlike the being who sprang from my soul full-grown.”

Seath began as gently as he could, “My Lord Gwyn, is that possible? Could the bearer of such a great soul have a child?”

“I do not know.” Gwyn’s voice hardened for a moment.  “But…I do know your Grace has been conducting…experiments.”

Seath said nothing.

“Ah, worry not, my friend, of course I know of your experiments! Though, I only know what I have sensed—and what I can guess from knowing you, your Grace. I hope that you will one day confide in me as I do you,” Gwyn paused.

“I wish to know of your findings.   I know your purpose is just; what are a few humans for insight into the soul itself? Into creation? What fortune it was that we met as we did, Seath.  I weep to think of such passion as yours stifled in darkness…”

Gwyn laid a hand on Seath’s left tail, then continued, “Forgive my musings, your Grace.  I only meant to say that I know we are of like mind and purpose.  And that I believe your investigation would help my cause. Let us collaborate! Surely our combined intellect can make a Goddess fit for Anor Londo?”

Seath began to smile and unfurled his tail on the carpet, “Then let us waste no more time, my Lord.”


	2. The Princess's Guard

Seath had instructed several of the Channelers to watch today’s procession instead of their regular duties. He normally took little notice of these small military campaigns: he had certainly had enough of dragons and their ilk for a lifetime. But today he was curious.

While he had not specifically instructed the observing Channelers to watch Gwynevere, they were, after all, attuned to his mind and power, and seemed to sense his interest in the Princess. Through their eyes he saw countless rows of knights approach then kneel before her. She seemed to speak to each knight in turn as she approached and let them kiss her hand. Seath felt what the Channelers could not see—that with every blessing she renewed the knights’ vigor and strengthened their might so that when the host finally left, Seath perceived a haze of warm magic emanating from them all.

She was magnificent.

Seath had rarely spent time with Gwyn’s daughter outside of royal duties, even though in many respects, she was his creation as well.

All those years ago it had been Seath who found the key to making Gwyn’s daughter: her purpose.

The Great Lord Gwyn did not have whims nor flights of fancy, so his preoccupation with another child had been troubling. Until they discovered Gwyn had been interpreting real visions. Whispers from the flame of his soul.

Gwyn’s world was entering a new era: an age of victory that had started to beget peace, even prosperity. His unrest then was like that of all warriors in peacetime. The Great Lord’s power, though immense, was ill-equipped for measured ruling. What good was a new king with only soldiers to rule over?

His world needed stability. Bounty. Longevity. It needed a kingdom to match the king it had chosen—and children to fill it.

Gwyn needed a child.

And this child needed to take a new facet of Gwyn’s great flames to do this. Not the white-hot destruction of lightning, but a hearth to gather around. Warmth and creation. Energy. Fertility.

Once the new deity’s purpose was deduced, it was easy to find how to make her. To make a Goddess of fertility and family required a creation in kind —Gwyn would have to play husband for a night. All that remained was to find a suitable woman.

Marriage was out of the question. Gwyn’s only peers were the other Lords, and the Witch of Izalith, even had she acquiesced, would have only birthed more of her own daughters. There were his female knights, but Gwyn had little desire for a concubine, and could not stomach the prospect of ordering one of his loyal comrades to bed.

This left only human women with which to experiment. Luckily, the Channelers had already been trained in how to find humans with strong soul power, and were also rendered mute as a consequence of their sight-links to Seath . They were not able to gossip about Gwyn’s involvement, even if they had noticed that something was out of the ordinary.

Seath trained his followers well, and within a month or two they had collected dozens of maidens from all across the land. The Channelers who remained at the Archives had constructed small chambers for their arrival, which were sealed and hidden with sorceries. The Regal Archives were, after all, available to the public, and Seath met regularly with the Deans of Vinheim in addition to hosting visiting sorcerers. While he was sure his human colleagues would, in fact, be fascinated by the experimental magic he was planning, Gwyn wished for their project to remain private.

After several fatal attempts, Seath understood why. When Seath brought Gwyn the first woman, he tried to grab her by the waist. But having consorted so little with humans, Gwyn did not know how fragile their flesh was, and his fingers slipped right through her lungs into her heart before he realized what had happened. The second, Gwyn grasped with care, but when he went to part her legs she jerked and tried to kick out as Gwyn pulled her; her leg came off with a pop, dowsing a shocked Gwyn with blood. She screamed, and they both attempted to stanch her wound, but as neither of them were adept healers, she quickly died as well.

“I thought I was being gentle…” Gwyn said quietly after Seath had spelled the blood away.

“We shall have to bolster their bodies’ strength before trying again,” Seath commented.

“To think that these poor creatures survived the great war…”

Seath did manage to stabilize the remaining women, but a new problem arose. Gwyn could successfully couple with the humans, but after he spilled his seed into them they would begin to burn from the inside out. He and Seath could feel that as his power began to fill the maidens, their soul power would fight him back uncontrollably until it faded. No matter how much power was added to them, none of them survived long enough for Gwyn’s power to coalesce into life.

It was only when Gwyn suggested they try one of Seath’s other test subjects that they found one who did not reject him. She had been a middle-aged merchant from Carim, and had almost no soul power at all. Seath had begun to change her into a mostly-living catalyst as a potential conduit for his power—and he was furious that he hadn’t thought of those experiments before then. He supposed he hadn’t thought Gwyn would want to risk bearing a daughter with the same green and blue skin Seath’s work had given the woman. But she no longer had any soul of her own, and of course, a true vessel made perfect sense in the end. While they had found that Gwyn’s future daughter would need to be conceived, it also followed that she could have no real mother—any contribution from another would be consumed in the process. 

Seath waited as Gwyn finished rocking inside her, then quickly moved to monitor the fire within her womb. She lay placidly on the mat. “You made sure to focus on the images in your vision at the end?”

“Yes, Seath.”

“Are you sure you didn’t crush her stomach at all?”

“Yes, Seath—”

“And you were sure to not cast any magic today and yesterday?”

“YES.”

“Hm…very well. Perhaps it simply…takes a moment.”

Gwyn opened his mouth and began to say something, but instead stopped and sat down naked next to Seath. He shifted once and let out a small huff. 

“Pray with me, Seath? I believe…I hope this time will work. It felt. Easier this time, to hold the vision in my mind.” He did not say he would—but he nodded at his Lord. He was. Anxious to see the outcome. And he focused a bit harder on that little, roiling ball of magic.

Suddenly, the fire within the woman flared white-hot. Seath and Gwyn both startled and lurched towards the woman, but then stopped as they saw the tongues of flame lap against her belly—not surge through it. She let out a small moan and turned on her side. Seath could smell that she was sweating, maybe feverish? But she was alive. And as the flames died down slightly, Gwyn let out a cry of happiness, for when the fire subsided, it left a glowing, pink ember pulsing and beating inside her. 

* * *

Seath ceased his reverie when he realized that not one, but two of the Channelers on reading duty had fallen asleep. He nudged their eyes open. It seemed they had tired more quickly than he had anticipated without the assistance of the others. But with today’s spectacle finished, he sent the sight-Channelers, who were now only observing the last supply carts leaving the city gate, to finish the chapters on new flame sorcery instead.

However, Seath found he could not readily concentrate on his reading and soon ordered all the Channelers to stop and await directions in the servants’ wing.

Gwynevere wanted to see him—wanted his instruction, actually, and was due to arrive at any minute.  
This social call was unusual. While he had played an integral part in her making, he had not continued to keep a large role in her care as she grew. She was well behaved as a child, of course. Lovely, healthy, and smart. But Seath did not really understand children. Their boundless curiosity, while admirable, was impossible to temper or direct; their love of loud noises was not only irritating, but occasionally painful to Seath’s acute hearing. And they were alarmingly small in stature and soul—barely perceivable until Seath had nearly run them over with his tails.

The Princess was neither small nor irritating, of course. But he still found her foreign. Even before she began to speak, it seemed she could bewitch people, causing every sort of being to coo and smile in her presence. Even Sir Ornstein had let out an undignified giggle when Gwynevere grabbed his finger from her crib. When she first learned to walk, it was when she toddled out of her handmaidens’ grasp on a trip to the Royal Wood; before they could catch her, she had patted the earth around her into a mound, hugged it, and then before their eyes a young conifer sprang up from it. Soon after, she began performing small rituals to help ailing crops grow, and as she grew these rituals later blossomed into a sacred, yearly practice to guarantee the harvest for all of Lordran. When she became an adolescent, she discovered she had the ability to bless the pregnancies of others. Miscarriage soon became an unheard-of phenomenon, and humans even made pilgrimage to Anor Londo so she could help them conceive.

She was the generous Goddess of life and fertility. And Seath did not have any for her to bless. Dragons would shed their scales to make young, and even the powerful deities of the Age of Fire could not give Seath those.

His thoughts went briefly to the Primordial Crystal lying under his chambers, but were interrupted when a young servant came through the study doors and announced, “Presenting Her Royal Highness, Gwynevere, Princess of Sunlight!”

She entered, and Seath voicelessly summoned two Channelers to the floor above his study for sight. All rooms in the Archives had several vantage points—the mostly unused cells that had been built now served as paths for the sight-Channelers when Seath wished to remain discreet.

He heard her footsteps and those of one? No…two handmaidens following her. His eyes soon confirmed the scene as the Channelers ran onto the hidden balcony while they cast Hush and skidded to a halt, gaze fixed on the Princess.

Seath now bowed his head to her.

“Your Royal Highness. We are honored to receive you.”

Gwynevere was smiling and peering up at the stacks, but then quickly bowed to Seath in response.

“Thank you for meeting with me, your Grace. I hope you are well? I have not seen you come to the city proper for several moons.”

Seath did not enjoy small talk.

“I am very well, your Highness. I trust Anor Londo has not changed in my absence?”

Gwynevere raised an eyebrow “They did re-varnish the main gate.” She let out a small laugh, “But forgive me, your Grace. I have been reminded by Father that you are a busy man. I do not wish to impose. Perhaps we should begin work instead?”

Seath waved his foreleg; “If the Princess wishes it.”

“Excellent. Anne, Eliza, would you excuse us?”

Her handmaidens left the room silently. Gwynevere sat on one of the benches at the table across from him, and as she crossed her legs, he saw she was barefoot.

“Very well, your Grace. I have come to you because I would like your help to create a covenant of my own. As you know, my father did not make his covenant, and my brother…was unhelpful with the logistics.”

She looked up at him with a small, tight smile, “He seemed a little worried that I couldn’t just…seal it with a lightning bolt or a handshake.”

Seath sniffed with amusement.

“Your brother is known for his, ah, intuition. Thankfully, that is neither the only, nor the typical method for covenant-making. I am curious that your father did not help you, or send you to his uncle Lloyd? He does oversee Lord Gwyn’s human worshippers.”

“Ah, but this is why I came to you, your Grace. You see, if I only wished to give out a miracle or two, I could start now. Sharing power as my family does is a natural part of its use. But I…well. I admit I have little with which to distinguish myself.” Gwynevere laid her chin on her hands. “Father’s followers can already heal themselves. I am not a warrior. And those who require my green thumb do not need a covenant with me. I speak directly to the earth, not through their requests.”

She paused, and straightened her back. “Now, do not mistake my words. If I should find that my reach is limited to tending the harvest, I shall be glad to have found my purpose and to serve it dutifully. I need no covenant to satisfy my pride. But. I believe I have more to offer to my home. To my people.”

Through the Channelers, Seath could see no tension in her posture, no bitterness in her expression. Her aura was steady and calm. But he thought he heard a hint of steel in her voice.

“I must speak frankly, your Grace. I came here with a purpose further than a covenant. I am grown now, and I wish to explore my power more fully. Test the limits of my soul. I do not think Father has intended to coddle me, but I have been shielded from much of this world’s strife.” She frowned slightly.

“I do not share the bonds of war that tie the court together—and you to my father. My studies have never been prevented. But I know they are not seen as a necessity. I have discovered most of my unique abilities by myself.”

Seath recognized the truth of this as soon as she spoke it.

“I know that my power is a gentle one. But I am still a God. My soul’s potential should not be a mystery to me. That is why I ask for your guidance. And for your blessing to use the Archives for this purpose. I believe you are a scholar at heart, great Duke. Will you not aid me in my investigation?”

Seath took a moment to note his good fortune.

“You wish for my blessing and my assistance? Then you shall have it. But I will not work against the wishes of Lord Gwyn. Do I have your assurance that you will inform him of your plans?”

“I understand your caution, your Grace. Yes. You have my word. I will tell him presently.”

Who could have known the Sun Princess would possess such ambition? And to study her unique soul was an opportunity he could not refuse.

“It would be a shame, your Highness, to have come to me and leave only with the promise of knowledge. For the beginnings of your covenant, I suggest you consult the Giant blacksmith to make you rings. The materials that please you can give valuable insight, even without a clear idea of the power you wish to share.”

Seath made sure to ask one of the reference Channelers out loud to find his copy of Divine Metallurgy. Gwnevere seemed surprised, for she had already stood up from the bench and had called for her handmaidens. She turned to face him again, but said nothing as they waited.

Soon the Channeler arrived with a thin stack of papers bound only with some twine and resin. Seath motioned to give it to Gwynevere.

“These are notes I have compiled from the Royal blacksmiths. This section has mostly case-studies, but should provide some examples for how your power could be integrated with an item.”

Gwynevere took the papers with both her hands. “Thank you, your Grace. This sounds most helpful. I shall not keep it from you for long.”

“You needn’t worry, your Highness. If you wish, it is yours to keep.”

She nodded. “Then I will take good care of it. You have been most generous, Duke. May the flames guide thee.”

As he watched her leave, he ordered the Channeler to make another copy of the notes. The Regal Archives were not a library, and their contents rarely, if ever, left the grounds. But she was a member of the Royal family. That made the Archives hers as well. And…he could not help but agree with her conviction: one such as she should not be forbade any knowledge.

* * *

_Honored Friend,_  


_My daughter has informed me of your generous offer to tutor her in the magical arts! She tells me she intends to use the time to research how to better serve her royal duties. I confess, I know not how she could improve in this respect! She is already quite the accomplished lady, don’t you think? Regardless, I give you my thanks for looking after her. Perhaps this academic pursuit will curb the horde of suitors that seem to follow her everywhere these days…_

_I give you free reign to instruct her in whatever topics you desire—but do not feel beholden to your new role as professor, friend. If you believe she will interfere with your work, I will find her another teacher._

_In other news, we have found the nest of drakes that has been plaguing Oolacile. Luckily, there are only a dozen—simple work for my knights. We plan to slaughter them tomorrow before daybreak, and should be back in the city within a few days._

_Gwyn_  


* * *

Seath hadn’t expected her to work quite so…quickly.

Their last meeting had been brief. Gwynevere had only stopped in to ask if there were an unused room she could use to study without disturbing anyone else. The Archives were built to accommodate even his size, so there were several reading rooms he showed her that contained no irreplaceable documents.

The next week, she sent along a message:

_Honored Duke,_

_I intend to follow your advice and examine the issue of a covenant item with more scrutiny. I request your presence at the Archives as soon as time permits you. Please know that I will be arriving with several knights to assist me._

_I await your reply,_

_Princess Gwynevere_

Seath hadn’t thought much of the message then, and dictated a short reply to a Channeler: they would meet tomorrow afternoon in the second floor reading room she had chosen.

When the appointed time came, however, neither she nor her escort was there. Seath waited a few minutes. Then a few more. He idly swished his tails on the floor. He asked the Channelers if she had sent word. She had not.

“How unbecoming,” he said to himself, and decided to return to his other work.

However, as he glided back to his main study, one of the Channelers activated their sight-link unprompted. Seath saw that he was looking out a window and down to one of the entrances. There he saw the Princess, ten silver knights, and a cart laden with every crafting material under the sun: hunks of metal, pouches of gems, planks of wood, and even several types of stone slabs. The cart was too wide to fit with the knights pulling it, and it seemed that the wooden base was barely holding onto its cargo. The wheels had sunk several centimeters deep into the earth below it.

Gwynevere had apparently just decided to change tactics and abandon taking the cart inside. She had ordered each of the knights to take a parcel, and directed them to the reading room. She even stopped to pick up a large shinbone, whose origin Seath could not identify, and joined in transporting the goods. He turned around and headed back to the room to greet her, Channelers in tow.

“Your Grace! I apologize for my late arrival. As you can see I…underestimated how cumbersome these,” she placed the shinbone on the table with a thud, “things would be.”

Seath watched with amusement as the last pair of silver knights ambled in carrying a huge ingot of brass.

“So I see, your Highness. You have been very thorough, indeed.” He examined the rest of her wares, and saw that despite the size of her pile she had only brought materials with magical significance. They were even ordered by increasing magical conductivity: from stone and wood on one end of the table, to tin and brass on the other. She had obviously studied well.

“I assume your Highness will be testing your affinity for these materials today?”

“Yes, your Grace. And I brought some volunteers.” She smiled wickedly and glanced down at the knight closest to her. “They have agreed to let me share my power with them. And have kindly agreed to spar if necessary to test that power.”

“At last, our Lady has made us duel for her affections! Do not despair, men—I shall be sure to ask her to heal you when I emerge victorious.” The knights laughed. Seath opened his muzzle, ready to reprimand their lack of decorum, but he saw that Gwynevere was laughing as well. He bit his tongue.

“Your Grace, I was hoping that you could monitor us? I understand you are able to perceive soul power with unparalleled sensitivity, and I do not wish to overlook anything you may find.”

“Of course, your Highness. May I suggest that you begin with the iron you brought? It is a moderate conductor of magic, with no unique properties—a good baseline. I must also insist,” Seath continued as he turned to the knights across the table, “that you at least remove your gauntlets, and your arms. Any enchantments or direct contact with silver will skew the results. The Channelers will take them.”

The knights all took off their gauntlets but were hesitant to part with their swords and spears until four silent Channelers entered. They were carrying cotton cloth, which they used to wrap up the weapons before placing them in a wooden chest at the far end of the room.

Seath saw now that Gwynevere was sitting in front of the chunk of iron, hands in her lap, eyes closed. She told the knights to each stand in front of a different material. The knight who had jested with her earlier stood directly across the table from her. Gwynevere began to raise her hands above her head, then brought them around in a circle until they met in front of her chest. Seath cut off his sight-links momentarily to better sense the magic. Her gold power intensified until the outline of her hands was lost in the bright light. She touched the iron.

Her father’s power would have dripped into the metal like honey—concentrated, and thick enough to blot out the iron’s original form once it spread. Her brother’s would have danced through the conduit, jagged and dynamic. But hers rippled through—so quickly that it resembled a fine oil thinning across the iron’s surface. When she took her hands off the metal, the ripples intensified into large, dappled waves—the light of a noonday sun on a river.

The first knight waited until she said, “Now, Colwyn,” then touched the iron with both hands. Seath felt him draw her magic into his body, then take out his talisman to cast Force.

The miracle was slightly strengthened. But it was not impressive. What was odd, however, was that Gwynevere’s power did not remain gold when the knight took it. It turned the same shade of blue as his soul, though it kept the pulsing ripples.

“Well, sir. That was disappointing!” Gwynevere said. “You did not take much of my power at all, it seemed?”

“I believe so, your Highness. Perhaps I did not draw on enough?”

But he was wrong. Seath had felt him drain the iron to near its full potential. It had been a temporary transfer, of course. But Gwynevere’s power should have lingered in the knight himself, even if it had not stayed in the metal.

“Your Grace, is that accurate? Shall I try again?”

Seath considered his words carefully. He did not wish to either discourage her or give false hope. “I do not believe you need try the iron again, your Highness. And there was nothing wrong with your technique. I am uncertain how your magic has affected your…escort. I suggest you move directly to the stronger magical conductors.”

Seath thought he saw a flash of worry in her eyes, but if it was there, she quickly suppressed it to focus on the next task. She walked past the bone and stoneplate gems to stand in front of a block of gold. She began again.

This time a different knight received her power. The gold should have allowed him to draw a larger percentage of the magic she gave—but the same phenomenon happened. Gwynevere’s power did not course through the knight as was expected, but seemed to dissipate until it matched his. Again, the only discernable trace of her magic was that the knight’s miracles kept those rhythmic ripples that appeared when she projected her power.

This knight knocked back several of his companions when he cast Force—which was apparently a cause for laughter. Gwynevere seemed pleased with the result, but Seath was still puzzled. The gold should have released more power than the iron intrinsically, but this knight only took as much as the first. Perhaps even less.

The same happened with all the potent conduits—brass, silver, tin, and pure copper—each time the knight’s miracle became stronger, but they drew less and less strength from the metals. More puzzling still was that the ripples remained in all the knights that took Gwynevere’s power. Seath fixated on the souls of the knights, trying to sense anything odd, any pattern. There was none—for a time. But after several minutes of work, he finally perceived a change. The ripples of the first knight—Cawyn or something like that—had shifted so slowly as to be nearly imperceptible. But they had begun to take shape into tiny rivulets flowing around each other in concentric circles.

“Stop!” Seath cried. “You.” He pointed at the knight. “Your Highness. Can you feel that? His soul is. Different.”

Everyone stopped to look at Seath, then at the knight. “…no. I can feel that he is still holding my power, but no more. Is everything all right?” Her brows furrowed. “Sir Colwyn?”  


“I feel fine, your Highness. Perhaps a bit warm? But I cannot imagine you have caused me any harm.”  
She smiled at him, then looked back up at Seath. “What kind of change can you see, your Grace?”  


“I perceive that his aura has taken on a form. It has ordered itself into rings that flow around each other. And it does not appear that he is still drawing from your power, your Highness, though this change has undoubtedly been caused by your influence. We should wait to see if the others change as well before testing anything further. In the meantime, I also suggest you allow me to remove the conduits you have used.”  


She nodded quickly, and the Channelers took them out immediately. The knights remained perfectly still. Her Highness looked at each of them intently. All looked back and forth between Colwyn and the Princess as the minutes dragged on, until one of the other knights approached Gwynevere quietly.  


“If I may, my Lady, please do not worry for our sakes. As Sir Colwyn said, our faith in you is absolute. I cannot believe your Radiance would allow harm to come to loyal hearts.” The rest of the knights began to murmur in agreement, then one by one turned to face her and dropped to one knee. She closed her eyes for a moment, then touched the knight who had spoken on the shoulder, “Thank you, Eamon.”  


What none of them had managed to notice, Seath thought impatiently, was that as they all began to focus on the Princess, their souls took on the same shape as Sir Colwyn’s. The rings appeared even in the knights who had not fed from the Princess’s power.  
Seath immediately instructed two of the Channelers to begin transcribing his observations. Then he spoke.  


“Your Highness. All of your knights now have the same shape to their auras.”  


“All of them, your Grace?” She surveyed the room. “But surely…” She gasped. “I can feel it. You’re all using my power. Even you, Sir Percival. And you, Tristan. And you, Jarle. But how can this be? You have not yet drawn from one of the conduits?”  


She stood up from the bench. “Unless any of you have objections, I ask that you try a miracle again, under this strange influence.”  


Seath did not object. He was quite curious to see what this new phenomenon would do. None of the knights dissented either, though he suspected blind faith instead of curiosity was their motivation. Gwynevere had certainly inherited her father’s charm, if nothing else.  


“Very well. Sir Colwyn, as you were the first to adopt this…shape the Duke has spoken of, would you begin?”  


“Of course, your Highness.” He took out his talisman and, again, cast Force.  


The crash was so loud it made Seath recoil. The clanking of armor hitting armor, and armor hitting ground continued for several seconds. The miracle had blasted every one of the knights—and the Channelers—to the ground. Gwynevere had even stumbled back a pace.  


Now that was in line with the power of a God.  


The next knight wisely chose a different miracle to try, and let out a cry of surprise when his Heal was much stronger. It even faded a scar on his forearm from knotted and purple, to the smooth brown of an old scar.  


“Your Grace, I trust your senses. Yet I still do not feel any change in my knights. I fear I must be mistaken, though.” She turned to face them. “I can feel you all when only one of you is casting…” She shook her head. “I envy your sight, your Grace. I must not be sensitive enough. I cannot feel any difference between now and the first time.”  


Seath was surprised at his spike of irritation—but he suppressed it as quickly as it came. He worked hard so that others would not notice his blindness; the inevitable result was that his…lack of ability was frequently forgotten.  


“That may be so, your Highness. But it is useful information, regardless. Even if they are all not truly drawing from you, this does imply that you are still…sharing…hmm…”  


Gwynevere watched him. “Your Highness, there may be a way to determine if your senses are correct. The walls of the Archives are made of wood. If you send them outside, all transient magical links will weaken, if not dissolve entirely. This should make it easier for you to sense them individually.”  


“Ah, of course! Then we can bring them back one by one.” She waved her escort out the doors. After brief deliberation, Seath told the Channelers to leave as well, and did not direct them to the hidden viewpoints. It would be easier for her to focus on the knights with no one else around. And he never lost his bearings in the Archives, eyesight or no.  


“Have their auras faded, your Highness?”  


“I can no longer feel them taking my power, but can sense no more. Is that enough?”  


“A moment, if you please.” Seath felt along the doorway. The Channelers were still clear. Their magical links with him were tied to an enchantment in their helms: permanent enough to persist through all but thick stone. The knights’ presences were muffled—to the point that it was difficult to tell how many were outside.  


“Yes, this should suffice. You may begin at your discretion, your Highness.”  


Seath assumed she nodded at him before she moved to open the door. But once she opened the latch, she hesitated.  


“Your Grace. Do you…do you know why you can sense souls and their arts so keenly?”  


“I did not always have one.” A vague answer, but a true one—he thought it best to not mention the contributions from the Primordial Crystal.  


She was silent for a moment. “Oh. Yes, of course.” She laughed once. “I suppose that cannot be taught…” She opened the door and called for one knight. They began again.

* * *  


Later that night, when Seath finished dictating his notes to the Channelers, he realized it was time for him to dream.  


His body did not sleep, of course—another treasure from the Primordial Crystal—but the soul fragment he possessed had needs of its own, and every few weeks it needed rest. He would enter a trance and follow along whatever memories or scenes it conjured. He still could not claim to understand the process, but it was not unpleasant, and so he had come to accept these forced respites. Every time he had tried to experiment with them or put off his dream states, they would eventually come unbidden.  


Seath dismissed the Channelers, cut off all his sight-links, then spread out in the center of the carpet in his chambers and began to focus inward.  


_HALT! Pitiable serpent, how dare you approach Lord Gwyn! ___  
_Seath heard metal clanking, swords being unsheathed. Smelled the ozone in the air. Knew they were attacking him though there was no pain. Felt warmth tickling across his skin. His exposed skin. Battle cries turned shrill with fear, as the warmth spread and a pleasant patting joined it. The pleasure of his inviolate flesh grew as each of their strikes against him failed and he laughed and laughed as waves of knights crashed and then broke against him as he trudged toward the bright flame folding his forked tongue this way and that molding his sounds into the two-leg word “ally”…_   
_…he grasped the crystal so, so gently, it felt so small and thin in his forefoot and he knew he should be running away right now before the bout with the two-legs ended but he was paralyzed, stunned, mind blank because he could see it he could see it it was so bright…_   
_…rings flowing around each other, and the flare of her soul when they all clicked in time with each other, bare feet on his floor, the smell of parchment…_   
_…soft flesh yielding to his claws as he climbed over their naked, dead at last bodies, their lights all gone out…_   
_…Gwyn the bright flame had a name, Gwyn and he spoke to him and called him friend before he offered that spark, set him alight and all at once he could feel every speck of power around him and he knew he had done right to burn the gray shroud burn their dark wings because now he could finally see his world burst from a tiny black seed into a dazzling bloom of color, yellow currents of lightning in the air, red heat before the fires erupted, white of the dead souls and the flickering blue of the living they all poured and danced before him and they were all his, his marvels that had been born from nothingness that now shined with the brilliance of a thousand suns_

* * *  


_Personal Log of Seath, Duke of Anor Londo: Princess Gwynevere’s covenant summary and conclusions_

_With further examination of the results of our preliminary experiments, it became apparent that the strength of her Highness’s power could not be attributed to magical conductivity (trials 1-12, fig. 2) or to net power shared (trials 13-30, fig. 3). These results were successfully replicated on Days 2 and 3—including the timing of the appearance of rings in the recipients’ auras. Her Highness and I agreed that focusing on these aura changes was the most promising avenue of study, and have been testing this ever since._  


_To date, we have examined the following effects:_  
_number of recipients present_  
_time of day_  
_time it takes for rings to appear_  
_moon phase_  
_recipient’s proximity to magical conduit_  
_duration of recipient’s enhanced power after touching conduit_  
_synergistic effects with different talismans and equipment (i.e. armor and clothing)_  


_Number of recipients present was the only variable which could affect the appearance of the rings, or replicate the increase in power that accompanied the ringed auras. All other variables had no unexpected effects on her Highness’s power. Of note is that all enhancements caused by her Highness scaled accordingly with the caster’s skill and equipment, suggesting that a covenant made with her would confer a percentage increase in power, rather than one based on ability (fig. 6-9)._  


_With further testing, we realized that the number of recipients alone could not affect the appearance of the ringed auras—only having one caster in a room did not trigger the rings no matter how many other recipients were present. On day 27 we revised our hypothesis to the current, and well-supported one: her Highness shares her power best not through individuals, but through synchronizing the magic of a group._  


_I have named this phenomenon “miracle synergy,” as it requires several individuals to cast miracles before it takes noticeable effect. (Note: does not appear to work with sorceries; experimental log vol. 44)_  
_1\. The appearance of the rings signifies that the caster has begun to draw on the latent power of her Highness present in the other recipients._  
_2\. Casting miracles is necessary to begin the synchronization, and to maintain its effects (further testing is required here to determine method)._  
_3\. The effects of miracle synergy are limited in distance, and so cannot be enhanced beyond the number of recipients present.  
To date we have found a functional limit to the expansion of her recipients’ powers, but not a theoretical one. If there were a way to increase the area of effect, miracle synergy’s power could increase indefinitely._

_Final notes: Her Highness is pleased with the results of our experiments and plans to announce the formation of her own covenant within the month. I have suggested that she allow me to present our findings to my colleagues at Vinheim, and we have begun to prepare a conference for the coming spring. We have no current objective to test next; however, her Highness has expressed interest in continuing her studies of the magical arts. Not only are her unique abilities fascinating and worthy of further study, she was “disquieted” that she could not easily sense the effects of her power in her recipients. We have begun regular meditation sessions to better hone her soul senses._


	3. The Blind Leading The Blind

“And how many are there now, outside the door?”  


This was a challenge. Gwynevere had come far since they began working together, but Seath had instructed a large group of servants, handmaidens, Channelers, and knights to mingle outside. Sheer numbers made it hard to distinguish individual souls from one another, and the variation in covenant and soul power made it harder still.  


Gwynevere was sitting on one of her usual perches—this time, on top of his thickest bookcase. A few months after they began their work, they had switched meeting places. She had snapped in anger when the chair she was sitting in came up with her hips as she stood. She had raved impressively about the indignities of having her legs catch under the tables, and sitting with her “knees cramped up to her ears,” until Seath beckoned her to a nearby room: his study in the Archives’ main wing, which had no chairs or tables, only a thick carpet and a few large cushions for his tails. They commiserated over the too-short doorframes in Anor Londo. She told him how she had outgrown no less than four separate wings in the main palace before she reached her adult height. He told her of his first dinner at Gwyn’s side—before Gwyn knew that Seath did not eat—when he mistook the table for a large serving tray, and upended the entire meal. She warmed to him considerably in the years since that day, and Seath was pleased to now consider another member of Gwyn’s family a friend. Not to mention a capable student and colleague.  


“Let’s see…I can pick out seven of my handmaidens, and…twelve of my knights. Nine of my brother’s. Hmm…”  


She closed her eyes, and set her mouth. “No. Ten of my brother’s, and eight of my father’s. Fifteen servants and…ooh I can’t tell, one moment…Hmph. Four Channelers?”  


“Excellent work, your Highness. A perfect reading.” She smiled, and jumped off the bookcase.  


He had stretched the truth a little. There were four Channelers outside—that could be detected. But he also had two inside the room, watching from the hidden pathways behind the shelves, and under every sort of secrecy spell imaginable. Not only were their physical presences hidden, their auras would be confused with his as long as they had an active connection through their helms. He thought it only fair to have his full wits and senses about him.  


“Oh! And a good thing it was—I have a ritual to perform within the hour!”  


“Another human?”  


“Yes. She lost five pregnancies before coming here! Can you believe how many people are coming from Balder these days? I have half a mind to march there myself and scold that Rendal-King into granting proper bed rest. The last three women I’ve seen were sent out questing after their quickening. Pregnant knights! What a farce!”  


“Quite so, your Highness. Though not all realms have your skills at their disposal. At least now you can ensure the safety of both mother and child.”  


She breathed a small huff. “Right. It is far too close to the ritual to get angry. I shall put it out of my mind.”  


Seath nodded. “A shame, though, your Highness. It would have been a reprimand for the ages.” He spared a moment to picture the human king cowering at about oh…her mid thigh, and hissed a short laugh.  


She grinned back at him. “I shall send word if she consents to your presence. Though of course, I shall bring back a full report, regardless. It’s a shame you have not been able to witness more rituals. I hope you can —this one should be quite interesting…”  


Most of the Princess’s duties as a Goddess of fertility involved small interventions. A nudge here to unwind an umbilical cord, a tug there to turn a fetus into proper alignment, or a quick jolt to start a newborn’s breathing. But some cases, like this one, were more involved. A normal blessing with some hallowed water would take care of maintaining the pregnancy, Gwynevere explained. But with so many miscarriages in a row, she suspected the embryos were not healthy to begin with: hence, the ritual. Out of all of the Princess’s powers, Seath found this one most fascinating: her Highness could act as a proxy. She would conceive herself, and pass along the healthy embryo to the woman.  


“I had better leave now. But I shall send one of my maidens within the hour to keep you informed. Shall we meet tomorrow? I would like to speak with you before I set out on my yearly pilgrimage. Or do you have business with my father again?”  


“I do not, your Highness. Tomorrow will be no trouble. I wish you good fortune.”  


“Until tomorrow, then, your Grace. And may the flames guide thee.” She bowed, then jogged out the door, holding the hem of her dress with one hand. After confirming she had left the Archives, he began to make his way to the western side of the grounds, through the courtyard and down into the small valley there. He found that his work with Gwynevere had an…inspirational effect on his insights into the Crystal, with their shared procreative abilities.  


As he slid across the grass, he considered what data might serve him best, should he attend this ritual. He had only been able to observe one of them to date. The Princess insisted that no undue stress be put on the mothers, which meant that his presence could not be hidden from them, lest the magic befuddle their senses. Seath had offered to discreetly strengthen the mothers so he could attend without their notice, but Gwynevere apparently did not approach these rituals with her usual scientific perspective. She had said she was unwilling to accept the risk to the humans just to satiate her curiosity, and he had pushed no farther. He supposed it was in line with her nature, to be so careful about a handful of humans.  


Despite this, her Highness’s cooperation was quite a gift. It had taken him nearly a year after they began working on her covenant to broach the subject of her fertility rituals. All he knew of the rituals he had learned from Lord Gwyn, who, while proud of her ability, had chosen to retain a fatherly distance from her methods. At the time he feared his interest would offend her. Most two-legged creatures, be they humans or lords, were both preoccupied and secretive about sex. But when he asked, he found her not only willing, but happy to speak to him. She revealed that most of the court was afraid of offending her or the Great Lord, or too embarrassed to speak freely about any of her powers that were channeled through sex. Furthermore, she had no equals who were not family. How could a simple knight or a handmaiden understand the heavy responsibilities in being the Goddess of new life and bounty? There were, of course, other Goddesses, but none as powerful as she resided in Anor Londo anymore.  


Ah, but now he had made it to the bottom level of his cave, and he flew over the large chasm into the deepest cove where the Crystal lay. It flickered and pulsed with no clear rhythm, but Seath enjoyed sensing it, and let the magical light wash over him for a moment before he began to care for it.  


The Crystal had the uncanny ability to sprout more crystals from it, and if he didn’t prune the growth frequently it would easily take over the entire cave. Seath also benefited from regular contact with the Crystal; though it was his power now, proximity to the Crystal helped increase his magical ability.  


Seath began to note the extent of the growth: an eighteen-centimeter radius in the past week, with an average height of ten centimeters. One peak was almost twice as tall as the others. Instead of sweeping it away with his forelegs, he plucked it from the base so he could examine it further; he would need his eyes to tell if it was the proper size for a test subject.  


Work done for the moment, he began to head back to the Archives, when he felt a Channeler initiate another sight link: before him was a handmaiden—Gwynevere’s handmaiden—giving the Channeler a sealed letter.  


_Human mother does not wish to be observed during ritual; no time to describe, embryo is not doing well. May we meet tonight? I have a pressing idea._  
_Princess Gwynevere_  


Seath instructed the Channeler to reply yes, but nothing more. She was clearly worried for the safety of her charges. He did not want to distract her. In the meantime, perhaps he could find a new home for the piece of crystal he had harvested… 

* * * 

Nearly five hours later, Gwynevere came in the door. Seath told the Channelers to harvest what they could from the cursed body, the fruits of his labors with the crystal for the night, and left to meet her in his chamber.  


She was tired; he could smell the hours of work on her—sweat and unwashed hair. He could hear her pacing.  


“Your Highness. How went the ritual? It sounded trying.”  


“It was.” She sat on the floor a bit harder than usual. “She’s alive. And pregnant. They will be fine. And that’s all that matters now. But that is. Not…exactly why I wanted to meet.” He heard her skirts shift.  


“It has been hard to find ways for you to observe my rituals—and with incidents like tonight, I believe it is all-important for us to discover more. My pilgrimage is nigh, and…I would like you to witness the final ritual.”  


Seath was stunned. Her yearly pilgrimage was potentially the Princess’s most important duty: the ritual brought a bountiful harvest to Lordran. And its details were a secret to all.  


“I would be honored, your Highness. But I was under the impression that you had to go alone. Is that not so?”  


She waited a long moment before speaking. “Yes. Well. I do. It is supposed to be a solitary ritual. But I have reason to believe that you may be able to attend, as long as it’s from a small distance.”  


Seath could not help but scoff a little. “Reason to believe?”  


“Yes. I am willing to risk my interpretation being wrong; if it doesn’t work, the only one who will be harmed is I, and I can redo the ritual if necessary…”  


“You have no need to convince me, your Highness. I do not fear for my safety. But I would like to know what…interpretation my presence hinges on.”  


She swallowed so hard he could hear it. “I…do not know if I can tell you. At least in full…” She cleared her throat. “The specifics of the ritual state that ‘no eyes may see’ it. I never thought that your senses might be an exception. You would have to come for the entire pilgrimage without the Channelers.”  


Specifics of the ritual? An odd phrase. “Your Highness, from where do these stipulations come? Is it not a ritual of your own invention?”  


“Yes, but—” She clicked her tongue once. He heard her open her mouth, then close it. She inhaled sharply.  


“I cannot tell you all the details. I took a vow. And I need your word that what I do tell you will remain a secret.”  


A vow? Interesting. That implied a formal magical binding.  


“I so swear, your Highness.”  


She waited a moment before speaking. “I have never told this to anyone. But…the pilgrimage I perform now was not fully of my own making. I assume that you know my harvest ritual has changed as I have grown? It was small and…intuitive when I was a child. I always could feel what had to be done to make something grow. But the first year of my adolescence, I began having difficulties. In frustration, once, I called aloud for someone to tell me why my powers were not working—and someone appeared.”  


Seath noticed that Gwynevere was speaking a little slower. Each word was measured. He could sense a touch of foreign magic clouding her mouth—but the Sun Princess was mightier than whatever god that made this binding. She had still managed to tell him much. That she could speak of the vow at all spoke to Gwynevere’s power relative to the caster. Furthermore, he could think of only a handful of reasons why a deity would want to ensure the Princess’s silence: the most likely of which was that her Highness had summoned one of the gods who was exiled from Anor Londo.  


“They answered my calling—and were kind enough to explain how speaking one’s intentions has tangible power and consequences. They told me that the reason my rituals were no longer sufficient was that I was beginning to come into my full power. That all of my powers of fertility were connected to each other. And that to bring life forth from the earth itself required a purity of focus that I had not yet achieved.”  


“Of course. I can imagine that the presence of others might disturb your focus.”  


“Yes, your Grace. And it could also distract the earth. But my guide was very clear that no lords or humans could accompany me, and that no one—not even I—could see the ritual. I have to complete the last leg of my pilgrimage blindfolded. But…if your Grace is to come, you would violate none of these precepts.”  


Seath considered his options. Though the Princess seemed sure that there was nothing to fear, Seath knew better than to trust in the letter of a law. His presence would certainly violate the intended boundaries of the ritual. More importantly, was he prepared to accept the consequences should the ritual go awry? Though the Princess’s desire to accept full responsibility for any misfortune was admirable, it was equally naïve. Should harm come to her, Seath knew that Gwyn would turn to him for explication.  


“More importantly, though…I wish you to attend. This ritual is…unlike any other magic I have felt. You are the only one who can help me learn more about it. And I would be honored to share the experience with a trusted friend.”  


…However. She was giving him an irresistible opportunity. Truly, once in an everlasting lifetime. And it was now a personal favor she asked.  


“I know I ask for much, your Grace. Please do not feel obligated…I just supposed that it might interest you—“  


“Your Highness. I accept.”

* * * 

It had been uncountable years since Seath had gone so long without his sight. He was perfectly capable of navigating without it, of course. But he had forgotten how many little things he could not sense with magic. Rocks and bramble. Moss and dead leaves.  
He had been following her for a night and the better part of a day. He trailed behind her on the ground and in the air, watching her rose-gold soul weave down the mountain face, and then through the forest. They did not speak—part of the solitary nature of the ritual—but Seath always stayed within earshot of her footfalls and soft breathing.  


While he knew that he was only an observer to this pilgrimage, he was still stricken by the sensations it wrought. The sounds of the creatures they happened upon—birds, insects, little rodents—reached him before their tiny life forces appeared to his senses. The usual warmth of the sun was replaced with cool, damp air. The smell of sap and pollen replaced the perfume and sweat of humans and Lords. Soon his focus narrowed, and he let his mind quiet as he followed her deeper and deeper into the woods.  


Finally, she paused and he heard her rustle in her pack. Seath realized that he had lost track of time, and shook himself back to his senses; it was an hour before sunset.  


They had discussed this before leaving, as they could not speak to one another before the ritual began. Here, she would tie her eyes, and be drawn to the final location. Once the ritual began he could not come any closer. Seath heard her take a few uncertain steps towards him, then turn and begin walking due west.  


She seemed to be sure on her feet now; her aura bobbed smoothly as she weaved around the trees. With each step she took toward her destination her soul grew brighter, and her aura expanded just a bit, until Seath could make out her entire silhouette. He estimated that they had traveled two kilometers when she stopped. Seath froze in place.  


She made an enchanting image. She had stopped inside a circular clearing of trees. The ivory and blue of the plants and creatures of the forest twinkled in a dim wall of soul power around her. Inside, she must have stood on a patch of dirt, for the entire clearing was inert, devoid of all life except for her.  


She began making strange motions with her arms. She brought her hands in front of her chest for a moment, then pinched something near her wrists. She brought her arms over her head, but then…she seemed to set something down…  


She was undressing. That made sense. It was likely that she needed to maximize her contact with the earth to achieve the best magical connection. After she finished, Seath was pleased to note that he was correct: her aura flared red and gold, more powerful and turbulent than he had ever sensed it.  


She sat on the ground and planted her feet. He couldn’t quite make out what she was doing, as she was holding her limbs close to her body. But she fidgeted a few times, propping herself up on an arm, moving her feet, settling her hips. She brought her knees near her chest. Her magic began to calm slightly, the chaotic flashes of power now slowing into rhythmic pulses. Seath craned his neck, stretching as far as he could without moving from his position.  


Just as he has begun to turn impatient, she lay down on the ground, knees bent, and now…spread. He could see her arms now, one straight at her side, the other on top of her stomach with her hand between her legs.  


Of course—what a brilliant way to access her fertility. She was masturbating. It pained him that she could not speak more of the ritual’s details, for he would have liked to discuss the theory behind this development. He had already begun to formulate a hypothesis, however. Activating her fertility powers usually required a recipient or a partner—and with no one who could receive her power, her energy would likely travel down into the earth. And as a primordial being, his presence truly would not interfere; matters of life did not affect the undead.  


As she stroked and rubbed herself, her power began to ebb and swell, like plumes of smoke. Her center remained her usual rose-gold, but swirling around it were flickering tongues of coral that changed to gold, to blinding white, to the brief blue of a hot flame. She began to breathe faster. She let out a small moan, and with it a pulse of magic emanated from her and rippled out from the clearing and through the forest. The wave of magic rolled towards him.  


When it hit, his attention slipped entirely. The magic had flooded his senses, and all he could perceive was the prismatic vision of her soul power. The tide began to recede and flow past him…but…something felt odd. Off.  


Though his magical senses had returned to him, Seath was suddenly made aware of his soul fragment. He could feel it. Feel it inside his ribcage near his abdomen. It was hot, tingling. And Gwynevere’s power was not passing through it.  


Before he could steel himself, another wave hit him. He retched and sputtered, as he tried to force the magic out of his chest, but he could not. A third wave came. He tried to fly away in a moment’s panic—but he could not. His soul power was trapped as well.  


His _soul_ power. From his _Lord soul_ fragment. A fragment that was forbidden from witnessing Gwynevere’s ritual. How had they not considered it?  


Seath tried to move and call out for the Princess, but he could no longer sense her whereabouts. And he knew not if she could cease the ritual even if she heard him. He crawled forward slowly, as more waves lapped against him, faster and faster, sapping his strength, weighing his soul like lead. Soon there were no pauses between the waves; they began to blur together into pulsing ripples and Seath could no longer stand against them, no longer push back or run away and he only had a moment to think of how foolish they had been before the waves finally dragged him under.

* * * 

Seath was awake. That was fortunate. And he could sense none of the ritual’s magic in or near him. It seemed that she had been successful.  


Then he opened his eyes.  


He had not stopped to wonder why he could see without the Channelers—but he was reminded of it instantly when the image he saw was so strange. Instead of the usual kaleidoscope of several six-eyed Channelers, there was one image. One place, one perspective only. And he was looking at himself.  


On instinct, he reached out to direct the movement of his eyes—but instead of control he was greeted with a rush of sensation. Strange aching in his neck and forelegs, warmth in his face, and cold on his feet; weight on his chest, fatigue in his legs…  


…wait.  


_Legs._ …Feet? Hair brushing his shoulders. Breasts knocking against each other.  


“…Seath. _Seath._ Ah…hah…uooh. … … Thank the flames. …are. Are you awake?”  


_Gwynevere._  


He did not know how to respond. He searched for his voice, but found her one-piece tongue instead. Began to conjure air inside his chest, but felt _breath_ instead. He heard her speak, but he felt it more, vibrating in his throat. Her throat. He could not separate himself.  


What was happening?  


“It’s not done. The ritual. Mmmm…uhn. It’s not done.”  


Her legs were shaking.  


“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  


How was he walking towards himself?  


“It wouldn’t work...won’t...without…You had to wake up.”  


Even exhausted as she was, she felt so _strong._  


“...help. Please. Oh.”  


He felt it before he heard her groan. She doubled over, and he felt a great thump inside her abdomen. Her muscles clenched, and he felt a tightening between her hips strengthen, and travel down, through her womb, then between her legs.  


It was blissful—the bolt of feeling was like nothing he knew, and though her eyes he could see his soul flicker—were those rings?—and see his tails seize and curl in time with the pulses in her body.  


She stumbled forward, still bent over, and leaned out to catch herself on his side. When her hand touched his flank, his mind went dizzy. He was catapulted back into his body, the might of her sensations mingling with his new ones. He could feel the warmth of her hand as she felt his skin—and he heard an echo of her voice calling it waxy—feel her hair brush his shoulder, and pull against her scalp.  


They were panting. She was looking up at him, but then twisted forward as another contraction sent them both shaking. Behind the pleasure, though, he now felt she was sore—tired, and _too_ sensitive.  


_How long was I unconscious?_ He thought, but the idea fled his mind quickly, as the ache in her sex grew. His forefoot—no, _her_ hand— _what_ was that? She rubbed tight circles on her vulva, making her stomach tense, and she buried her face against him.  


“Ah…hah—ah—” She slumped into the crook of his right tail, her back flush with his front, her hair tickling his ribs. Her eyes were closed now—and he was surprised to find that he wanted her to open them again. How did he not _know_ that the bodies of the living were so euphoric…  


She paused to _press_ her fingers—do _that_ more—she spread her legs farther, and he wished he had more control of his body again so he could writhe and twist just like she was. He needed something to push against, something to help manifest the frenzy that was growing inside them.  


As if she had heard him, she started to move more. He felt her buck once, twice, shiver, and kick her feet. She pushed against him, digging her heels into the ground. Somehow he knew that she enjoyed the chill of his skin. His cold-blooded body soothed the sweat pooling on her back, and under her arms.  


She wasn’t rubbing anymore so much as kneading, jerking her hips back and forth into her hand, stopping once to _pinch_ , then circling again furiously. He could barely feel the rest of her body. All of her thoughts, all of her sensations were fixated between her legs, and all he could do was urge her on.  


_Keep going keep going._ He felt her start to make small noises as her breathing turned to staccato gulps and gasps. Inexplicably, these moans made her feel…better, made her sex swell and her womb clench. _Keep going._ So he leaned into their link, and nudged at her throat.  


He wrenched a _howl_ from her. Her knees jerked up, folding her near in half. As her legs spread farther apart she became even more sensitive; so he goaded them a bit farther. She threw her leg over his tail—though it too was flexing and twitching with her—and hooked her toes around it near the end, and with what little control he had, he curled the tip around her ankle to hold her steady. Her thighs were now split into a straight line, and every move she made, every slide of her wet fingers built his anticipation _keep going keep going please keep going._  


He didn’t know he could feel like this, didn’t know he had been _denied_ this. He urged her to go faster, harder, _more_ , to chase and catch the aching need that was growing inside them—the need and _want_ that had momentum now, spiraling up through them like lightning.  


Suddenly the yearning in her sex spiked—changed somehow—and he knew that she could not stop—like he was flying into a dive, plummeting so quickly as to feel weightless and woozy, accelerating without hindrance or care to this _point_ , this peak, _keep going, keep going keep—_  


She let out a sob, then held her breath as both of their bodies convulsed and shivered, then went rigid, her cunt sending great spasms up through her womb, and down his tails. It felt _so_ good, ecstatic, explosive and every muscle in their bodies thrummed together—  


_CRASH_  


_What? —but…_  


Seath had just one jarring moment to see a great flash of lightning behind her eyelids before he was torn back into his own body, suddenly bereft of Gwynevere’s beautiful magic. He was frozen, shocked and mute, unable to sink back into the connection or the sight-link they had made. Only after several frantic attempts did he think to use _his_ mouth to speak, let alone _his_ soul-senses. He started to move gingerly, expecting to feel exertion, the echoes of her sore muscles. But there was nothing. His body had healed, of course. It was unchanged, as ever.  


At the moment of th—…of her orgasm, a great downpour had begun. He tried to listen for Gwynevere, hoping that she would confirm the end of the ritual, but clashes of thunder struck his ears, and he could not focus without wincing. He reached down gently to jostle her instead—and he found her, but she did not move when he prodded her, and did not respond when he spoke to her. He could not rouse her.  


Anxious, he looked harder at her, and he came back into his soul-senses as well as his body. They were faint—his soul still felt strange—but it was enough to tell that she was alive, and well enough. Just asleep. Maybe unconscious. His fingers lingered for a moment, wrapped around her shoulder, pausing to feel the gooseflesh that had sprung up on her rain-soaked skin. But then he hoisted her up into his forelegs, and took to the skies, heading straight for Anor Londo.


	4. Misgivings

It took three full days of dreaming to restore Seath’s soul fragment to normalcy. Even as he was flying back to Anor Londo he could feel its strange, hot prickling inside his chest, and the heavy drowsiness that signaled it wanted rest. He only had enough energy to fly them to the Archives, drop Gwynevere in the care of the Channelers, and collapse in his main chamber.  


His dreams were…indistinct. But not unpleasant. In some, there were many things he did not recognize—things he knew were not _his._ Friendly knights and servants. Someone grasping his hand in theirs. Brushing some furry pet. Submerging in clean, hot water. Others were mundane—occurrences so regular as to be easily forgotten. Flashes of the Channelers’ day-to-day lives, the memory of his raw, exposed skin scraping against rock.  


But the rest…in the rest, he was back in the forest. Inside her…Her Highness’s mind. Each time it repeated he noticed something new. The blindfold she had used—it was discarded on the ground several meters away from them. It had been morning, though the storm clouds she summoned had kept the sky dark; she had been awake all night, and he felt weight behind her eyes. There _had_ been rings in his soul—synergy rings—though she couldn’t see them as clearly as he would have. There had been pine needles on the ground, and they tickled as they stuck to her feet.  


But the sequence never repeated _entirely._ Always before the end his dreams would shift. Though the transition out of her mind softened, from paralyzing shock the first time to a quick smart at the last, he still felt. Numb. Deprived. Unfinished. And he still felt ill at ease when he finally woke.  


First, Seath checked himself, searching for any magical damage or residue. He found none. Then, he called for Channelers, and demanded updates on the Princess and the regular workings of the Archives.  


He peered at their visual memories all at once. He watched the whole record of Gwynevere, though it was not long. The Channelers had clothed her and checked for injuries, but they did not have time to do any more, as she woke less than an hour after he left. She departed immediately, refusing all attempts to assist her. Her expression was blank.  


The rest of the records were unremarkable—Channelers maintaining test subjects and helping citizens with magical problems—except that Gwyn had requested a meeting yesterday.  


Seath began to worry. The Channelers would have heard if anything…grave had befallen her Highness. But the Archives were separated enough from the whims of the court that he did not trust his servants to look for any subtle trouble Seath may have caused. Had the ritual succeeded? Was she unharmed? And was she distressed by the outcome?  


Though her vow would prevent her from speaking about the ritual in detail, he was unsure if she could still speak about _him._ He required a plan should she feel…dishonored. Or if Gwyn was displeased. A way to ensure Gwyn’s continued favor. He did not relish this prospect.  


But his Lord would not wait for him to ruminate. The length of his delay was already approaching unjustifiable. He resolved to leave for the city immediately after basking with the Crystal: he would need his full vitality to navigate what lay before him.

* * * 

Seath did not wait long for Gwyn. Minutes after he landed in the cathedral, the Great Lord greeted him at the top floor, then beckoned Seath to a private area. He brought no servants or guards.  


“Greetings, friend! I apologize for the long stretch since my last visit to the Archives. It has been several months now, has it not? Though I have enjoyed your letters, as always. Tell me, were you able to parse out the findings you made last we spoke? What was it…oh. Resistance to curses! What a fascinating puzzle, how unpredictable it is. I have found myself pondering it in recent days…”  


Gwyn seemed entirely normal. Certainly not upset. Not even questioning. How peculiar. Seath answered Gwyn’s queries about the reports he sent. He added timely chuckles at Gwyn’s court gossip. He asked about Gwyn’s construction of the new human city. He listened. But Seath did not inquire after Gwynevere.  


And Gwyn did not seem to notice at all. The knot of concern in Seath’s chest began to loosen as their conversation stretched into the afternoon. But it did not disappear.  


"Now, my friend. I do have another topic I must broach with you.”  


Seath was surprised to feel a spike of panic shoot up his neck. “What topic, my Lord?”  


“There have been some…distressing reports from beyond the kingdom. I have heard an increase in rumors of occult activity from the south, as well as unrest directed at the kingdom.”  


Seath calmed as Gwyn continued: “I have sent spies of my own to investigate, but I would like your disciples as well. Send your keenest prospects from Vinheim. I assume you will want to send a Channeler to supervise as well? I shall need six persons in total. As soon as possible.”  


“It will be done, my Lord. Shall I send them to you for approval?”  


“That will not be necessary, your Grace. I trust your judgment, and would prefer haste in this matter. However. A reference paper on our current knowledge of necromancy would be appreciated. I may have to…selectively educate my knights should these rumors be serious. For now, keep this information in confidence. The only people who now know of this are my children, my Blades, and you. Perhaps my daughter would be willing to help you with your research? I do not wish to keep you from your other duties, and I’m sure she has the time now that her great ritual is done?”  


“That…would be most helpful, my Lord. But I will be able to complete it without assistance. Her Highness surely needs rest after such an important ritual.”  


“She did not seem fatigued when I spoke to her. But perhaps you are right.”  


Seath could not help himself. “Did her Highness tell you anything about the ritual?”  


Gwyn paused. “No. Just that it was another successful year. You know she does not tell me much of her private affairs. Especially that ritual—she is so secretive about it. I’m sure you know far more about it than I, my friend!”  


“No more than you, my Lord, I assure you.” Gwyn did not know Seath had been there.  


Gwyn had to leave soon after, and Seath returned to the Archives. He was unsure what to make of the information he received. It seemed that neither Gwynevere nor the ritual had come to any harm. But why, then, had she not come to see him? Seath assumed that even if her fondness for him was shaken, that at least her sense of duty would bring her to the Archives. It was not like her to be so silent.


	5. Give and Take

He did not have to wait a second week.  

Just after the first morning light, Gwynevere came.  Though not in her usual way.  She waited at the main gate to be let in by the Channelers.  She was rather formally dressed.  But she had come alone.

Seath watched her as she followed a pair of Channelers to his study.  Her eyes were fixed on the ground before her—just high enough that she wasn’t bowing her head.  Anticipation coiled inside him.  Seath had a bizarre impulse to appear as if he were busy.  

When she entered, she did not look at him.  She turned to watch the Channelers until they had closed the doors behind them.  Seath wondered, for a moment, if he should send away his hidden sight-Channelers.  But when he saw her eyes flicker, and her posture waver, he decided to keep them. Seath knew he should pay attention to her expression, but instead he directed his eyes to wander, pausing to watch her breathe for several, long moments.  He could almost feel his own chest expanding, rising, then falling as he watched her ribs move inside her dress.  

Seath jerked his eyes back up to her face.  Gwynevere couldn’t decide whether to keep her eyes on him or on the floor, but instead looked back and forth quickly.  He wanted her to speak first—her reaction was of the utmost importance.  If she were offended by Seath’s…participation, he would have to immediately begin working to tip Gwyn’s favor against her.  But if she were not upset…then…  

She almost started to speak several times, but closed her mouth and furrowed her brow instead.  Seath grew impatient.

He bowed his head, as usual.  “Your Highness. …Are you well?”

He startled her, it seemed—but she pulled her eyes from the floor to look up at him now.  

“I came to apologize!”

Apologize?  

She snapped her mouth shut as soon as she finished, and twitched her brows together.  

“I’m sorry to be so rude…your Grace.  I am well.  But should I not be the one to inquire after you?”

She clenched her hands into fists once, then relaxed and continued: “I have been cowardly.  I was rash, and selfish.  I am filled with shame.  I put you in harm’s way and…and…” She drew a shaky breath, then whispered, “I forced myself on you.” 

“What do you mean?” Seath hadn’t exactly meant to speak then.  But…of all the reactions he had envisioned, he had never expected this.  The Princess?  Rape him?  Preposterous.  However.  This did mean that she had not turned against him.  She was worried about him.  

She paused with her mouth still open.  “What?”  She blinked twice.  “I.  I mean that you had no way to...I was in your mind.  Or you were in mine...but that was not supposed to happen, and…”

Seath truly was trying to listen well, but…She was not angry with him.  She was not upset.  Not even embarrassed.  She was contrite, almost _penitent_.  And if she were not angry…then…

They could still work together.  Study _the ritual_ together.  …It was even possible she would let him have her again. 

He stared at her soul.

As she spoke, he kept his expression moderate and interested, his head turned towards her.  But his attention was wholly on the little tendrils of soul power that popped and flickered from their source.  Their shifting seemed slower than he remembered.  Her soul was the same as it had always been, and yet.  Clearer?  He could feel its power radiating, its warmth wafting over to him.   He could sense each soft wave as it came.  

His time inside her mind must have sharpened his soul sense of her.  Perhaps if he concentrated he could hone them more still…he had never been able to feel her soul junctures before—but the pulsing and flickering of her soul felt so familiar…Surely it could not hurt to try? 

All living beings had a little...map in their minds—a hub inside their heads—where all of their sinews and fibers were connected to each other in the vague shape of a body.  In most creatures, soul and body were entirely fused.  In those more powerful, souls could act with some independence.  But even the strongest of Lord souls had to connect somehow with this cluster.  

There was no way to describe how Seath could sense these junctures—or when and why they appeared to him.  He only knew that—before today—the junctures only revealed themselves to him in those already compatible with his crystalline magic.  Moreover, Seath knew of no other being who could see what he saw.  For he used his soul senses to trace these connections in order to control young moon sorcerers who would become Channelers.

He grazed the seam that would connect to her hand. 

She stopped speaking. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.  She had felt him.

“I should not have come—” she was already halfway to the door.

“Wait.”

She stopped, but did not turn around.

“Do you know how the link came to pass?”

“Ah.  No.”

He felt the faintest flutter in his abdomen.  Was that hers?  He restrained himself from chasing after the sensation. 

“You did not deceive me.”

“...I suppose not.”

“Your Highness is...upset at. Herself?”

The fluttering plummeted. 

“I do not think myself worthy to ask your forgiveness.”

Seath startled.  In his excitement, he had forgotten that she was still distraught, even if her distress was not aimed at him.  He would have to comfort her.  Surely she could not be too different from her father?  He tried to speak directly.

“I hold no animosity towards your Highness.  I can find no need for apology.  In fact, I mistook your silence for displeasure.  Your Duke is relieved that he has not caused your Highness dishonor.”  

But she still winced as he spoke.  He was not being effective.  Perhaps a softer approach was in order.  He closed the distance between them.  “My Lady.  It was an honor to share in your most sacred rite.  If you wish for my forgiveness, it is yours.”

She finally looked up at him.  “You—I mean your Grace, believed that you had upset… _me?_ ”  

She barked a quick, rueful laugh.  “I should have known you would meet me with kindness.  You honor me with your friendship.”

Mm.  Better, but she was still upset.  And her voice reeked of guilt.  But at least _that_ he could work with.

“Your Highness.  If I may be permitted to speak freely?”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded her head earnestly.  “Of course.  Please.”

He made sure to dip his head, and turn away slightly—appropriate, person-like body language.  “I confess, your Highness, that it is difficult to be frank…” He stretched the pause until she began to tense. “But I believe that your Highness deserves perfect honesty.”

He lifted, then dropped his shoulders—an impression of a sigh, which she followed with a real one.  “I have not been entirely truthful, your Highness.  Though you must understand, it was only that I feared your scorn.  If you have been…how did you say it?  _Cowardly_ , oh yes, then I have been equally so.”

She was looking at him so intensely that she hadn’t even blinked while he spoke.  He continued.  “I wonder.  How much does your Highness know of my defection to your father’s side of the great war?”

Her eyes flickered down.  “I am aware of the tale, your Grace.”

“You must, at least, have heard some unseemly tidings of…my motivations?  About the strength of my loyalties?”

He waited until she nodded.  Her expression was…not excited, she was too gracious for that.  Earnest, though puzzled.   “Your Grace, I am afraid I…do not understand your intent.”  She looked up at him. 

“My apology, your Highness—then I will be blunt: the powers of the soul are many, each grander than the next.  But my interest in the soul arts has always been a simple one.  It was necessity that brought me to your father; I require the combined might of souls, crystals, and sorceries to survive.”

He let his distaste for his…deficiencies show, ever so briefly, on his face, and waited for her to notice. The truth was not Seath’s preferred weapon, but he could yet wield it with skill.

Gwynevere tipped her head towards him, worry now mixed with her curiosity.

He began again quietly. “Your Highness is aware of my blindness.  But my soul feeds more than my eyes.  Without magic, I am entirely vulnerable.  It powers my wings.  My limbs.  My soul-senses.  Even my speech."

He gestured towards his tails, then to his snout as he spoke, as if displaying them.  He was close enough to Gwynevere that he almost brushed her sleeve.  

“The price for these small freedoms is a body that will never work without great effort.  Each motion requires concentration.  Each sense requires discipline.

“I pray I do not overstep, your Highness.  But to share in your rite—to share in your power—was a gift.  The blessing of a respite.  You fret over a trespass that is not possible.  You could not have violated me, your Highness, for my body is only a hindrance.”

He let his head hang for a moment, then stretched his neck down until his snout was right before her eyes.  “You should feel neither guilt nor shame at the wonders of your body, your Highness.  Pleasure and ease are miracles in their own right.”

He began to turn away from her.  “Now, your Highness, I will burden you no longer with talk of my frailties.  I hope that you will return to the Archives soon; it would be prudent for us to have a more…academic discussion of the ritual.  May the flames guide thee.”

He glided a bit slower than usual to accentuate the effort in his movement.  He dared not push their intimacy any farther today—Gwynevere was caring, but she also would need time to overcome her guilt before he could think of touching her again, let alone linking with her.  Perhaps next time she came for magical practice, he could inquire after her feelings on the matter… all he had to do was—

“Wait.”

She squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

“It is no burden.  And if it is no burden on you, your Grace, I think it best that I stay.”  

—And yet she always had a penchant for exceeding his expectations.  Seath turned back to face her.  She folded her arms over her stomach.

“Well, at least…  I wish to have that ‘academic conversation,’ your Grace.”  She gave a rueful smile to the floor. “After all, it was I who postponed it so.  Have I not kept you waiting long enough?”

She smiled, unguarded and inviting.  A great, greedy feeling welled up in Seath, and before he could respond with care, a “ _yes”_ escaped through his gritted jaw.  

They both froze for a moment.  

“Yes, of course.  As your Highness wishes it,” he corrected.  “Would you care to sit?”

She nodded before speaking, “If you wouldn’t mind.”  She hesitated—but soon after, lowered herself onto her shins at the foot of a bookcase.  Her hands gripped her knees.

“I am relieved that I did not…that you have not come to any harm.  Your tutelage.  Your friendship.  They are precious to me.  It would have pained me to lose them…” She relaxed her hands; she shook her head. 

“Do you know what happened?” 

Seath cocked his head.  “I can recount what I was awake for.  The rest is speculation.” 

“Then would you speculate, please?  There is not much for me to tell—keeping the ritual stable…I’m afraid it exhausted my focus.”

Seath nodded.  

“Your original premise was sound, your Highness.  If I were not an inheritor of the Lord soul, I have no doubt my presence would have gone unnoticed.”  

Seath began to relax and turn over his observations from the past week until they combined into an orderly theory.  He closed the Channelers’ eyes, as he often did when dictating his work.

“As I should have suspected, your ritual, your Highness, is most likely an amplification of your unique strength: your ability to harmonize souls to increase their power.  The necessity of solitude implies that the aim of your ritual is different; you are not synchronizing others as your covenant does, but instead synchronizing the ambient power of the land to _your_ soul.”

Seath paused to open the Channelers’ eyes, anticipating one of Gwynevere’s keen questions or insights—but she had not moved from her spot on the floor and made no move to speak.  He continued.

“The presence of other souls would have two effects: one is that you would overwhelm their soul with your own patterns, the other is that the strength of your ‘message’ to the land would be diffused, and therefore weakened.  In other words, other souls would divert your power away from its intended target.”

He paused again, but she only nodded once in reply.

She didn’t seem to be giving her full attention to his words.  

“Does my explanation fatigue you, your Highness?”

She blinked.  “No!  No…I apologize, your Grace.  It’s just that I think I see…”

She touched her hand to her mouth and seemed to stare at the ground in front of her.

“That’s why I had to wait for you to wake.  You took on the ritual as well.”

“Indeed, your Highness.  My thoughts precisely.”  

 “…but then…” she scoffed lightly.  “but _how?_   Should that not have crossed all stipulations of the ritual?  And yet I am certain of its success…” She looked down into her lap. “How extraordinary,” she breathed.

Seath had hoped that he could avoid serious discussion of his telepathy.  He never bared _all_ the details of his channeling work.  While it was a precaution that had never yet been necessary, there was always the slim chance that if Seath revealed the secrets of his links, they could be exploited.  Broad strokes would have to do.

She was now gazing up at his face—patiently awaiting his expertise, no doubt.  

“ _How_ , your Highness, is difficult to answer for certain.  Suffice it to say that the combination of my channeling and your synergy was enough to mitigate the difficulties you faced.”

An openly quizzical look flashed across her face before she schooled it back to neutrality.  

“Channeling?”  

She gave him a sharp look. 

“Yes, your Highness.”

“As in your Channelers?” 

 “…yes, your Highness.”

Her mouth parted slightly and she blinked hard. “Do you mean to say that _I_ served as Channeler does, your Grace?”

Seath bobbed his head from left to right, biding time. “It is more accurate to say that channeling was the only way _my_ power could respond to your miracle synergy.”

She smiled from the side of her mouth.  “I recall you saying that only _very_ special beings could channel for you.  Am I not special, then?”

Seath arched his head up, farther from Gwynevere.  She cocked her head in the same direction.

_Have I not kept you waiting?_

_Am I not special?_

“Your Highness would seem to be in a jesting mood.” Seath raised his brow.  He was unsure what to make of these breaks of her usual decorum.

She flicked her eyes up and down and gave a quick sigh.  “Forgive me, your Grace…I did not mean to be coy.”  Sometime earlier—though Seath had seen when—she had brought her legs out from underneath her into a far more casual pose.  Her arms were propped up behind her, and her legs lay straight in front of her, peeking through the pleats of her dress.

“…of course, your Highness.  Though it would seem… Perhaps academics is not all you wished to discuss today?”

 _Damn_ his impatience, he had not meant to redirect her so soon—but she _was_ acting differently, so…attentive to _him_ and not his studies; from her legs to her gaze, every part of her seemed fixed on him.  It was maddening, not knowing her intentions.  It was maddening, having only his _sight_ to evaluate her, when he knew that he could now pluck the knowledge straight from her soul, if she let him. 

She bit her lip and let her head fall back so that she was gazing upward, almost straight up at a hidden Channeler.  A bare, longing look flashed across her face.

“Ah…perhaps not. …Does this meet with your Grace’s approval?”  

Seath longed to feel her teeth as they pressed on her mouth.

“It does.”

She folded her legs and clasped her hands in her lap. “It’s what you said earlier.  When you called me…respite.” She smiled again from the side of her mouth.

“You have guided my powers to help so many others, yet have never asked for anything in return.”  She looked into her lap and slanted her shoulders, but she spoke clearly and evenly.  

“But I know what you felt when you were inside me—at least some small part of it.  And if I could discern that much…” 

She furrowed her brows in brief concentration, then gazed straight at Seath’s face.  “Your Grace, when you compared me to a Channeler—am I to understand that…that I could do it again?”

Seath suddenly understood what the humans meant when they said _breathless._   He seemed to have forgotten how to conjure the air he used to speak.  He even had to cut off his links with the Channelers before he could croak out a reply.

“I do not know for certain. …I believe so.”

“So do I.  I know not the reason, and yet… Yet I wish for it.” She held out her hands towards him, and through her silhouette of soul power, he could tell her palms were facing up.  Offering.  To him.  

“Do you wish to try?  Do you want me, Seath?”

Seath flew across the room and touched her palm with his claw.

In truth, Seath wasn’t sure if it worked the same way as with the Channelers.  In fact he knew it could not be the same method; he did not _share_ when he occupied a Channeler.  But as with any magic, the execution hinged upon intent more than anything else, and his intent was clear.

He would tell her about the soul junctures…later.  He felt along the first seam he found.

Instantly, he could _feel_ through her hand—the chill of his knuckle against her skin.  The weight of it.  But the link was different than last time.  Limited, but more familiar.  This time he could still control his own body and use his own senses.

It was not smooth like with the Channelers.  He could not push or command directly—and would not try.  Forcing these links was possible, but would damage the surrounding soul junctures.  Instead, Seath let himself float along the edges of her mind, picking up flickers of thoughts and feelings.  _…wonder, can he hear…_ fluttering in her abdomen…blood rising in her neck and face… _softer than I thought…_

“Oh!” Her hand twitched with his touch, and then grasped his finger.  

Her hands were so… _sensitive._ Just that one brush tingled up through her wrist, and he swore he could feel it all the way up his back to the crown of his head.  Surely that could not be typical?

She giggled. “It only means it feels pleasant.  Though I suppose it is odd, to…feel something in two places at once.  I had never thought on it before.”

Well.  Not very limited, clearly.  He would have to be more careful.  More deliberate.  

_You can hear me._

Her eyes widened, and she gasped and jerked her hand away for a moment.  She looked up at him inquisitively.  “What?  You. …did not speak just now.” 

_No, your Highness._

She twisted her mouth, and chewed her tongue.  “Incredible.”  Then she closed her eyes tightly, and bounced her knees twice.

She opened one eye.  “Did it work?”

He barked a peal of laughter out loud.

“No.  But remember well that I am more practiced than your Highness.”

She opened her other eye and let out some noise of disappointment.  But she was still smiling.  

“This is different.  From the ritual, I mean.”

_Indeed, your Highness.  The link is new._

“But you are not in my sight.”

_Not yet.  Shall I?_

She nodded, then looked at him, shook herself and said, “Yes.”

Now that she had given permission, Seath would go to her eyes.  He circled around her until he was facing her back.  This seam was familiar to Seath, and easy to find.  There was a straight line from her eyes to the back of her head, and from there he could trace along that juncture to wherever he wanted.  He left the Channelers and touched the back of Gwynevere’s head.  

He needed no assistance; Gwynevere gave no resistance, and before he even finished tracing the paths of her soul, he was looking down at his own tail, with her strange, single vision.  

Seath took stock of his own sensations before sinking into hers.  There was nothing out of the ordinary.  Except…there was something warm lying across his knuckles.  He pulled at it gently, and it clinked on itself as it went taught.  He pinched along its length with his other forefoot, keeping the pad of his finger motionless against her head.  A chain.  Made of gold and copper, judging by how it thrummed at his touch.  With a charm on it—Gwynevere’s circlet.  He must have jostled it.

Seath moved to replace it quietly, but was interrupted when he grazed her scalp with his claw; she shivered.  

For an instant, he thought he had hurt her, but then _he_ felt the shiver bloom in him, leading a cascade of electric tremors dancing from his head, to his shoulders, to the trunks of his tails.  She rolled her neck to press back against him, closing her eyes as his claws parted her hair.  

She gasped and it made him sigh in turn.  Seath dragged his claws down towards her neck, then up again, following the gentle tingles that sprang from his touch.  

Gwynevere gently opened her eyes to look up at him.  Seath felt quite…tall as she craned around his wrist to look up at his jaw.

“I can… _feel_ that.  I mean.  In you.  With both of us.”  

He felt her reach her arms out to her sides to feel the air around her hips, then back near her shoulder blades.

“I can feel _you_ this time.  Not just in me.  …is that?  Mm…” She wiggled her hips, and tensed her thighs, once, twice…all the while her hands stretched out past her sides.

She was feeling for his tails.  Seath swished them gently.  

“Oh,” she murmured, hands still hovering at her sides.  “They’re so.  Heavy.” 

Her breath hitched, and she jerked her arms tight against her body.  Seath could feel her ribs rise to press warm against them with every breath she took.

“And your wings…they’re…marvelous.”

…and so impractical that they bordered on vestigial—Seath was far more concerned with Gwynevere’s marvels.  

He could feel the sound rumble in her chest as she spoke—vibrating like a mellow, wooden instrument, and he wanted to feel it with _his_ body as well as hers.  So he curled his left tail forward towards her.  It slithered along the floor right to her knees, then rose up to rest on her waist.  

He could hear her calling him _soft_ and tensing her abdomen to remain carefully upright—trying to keep him from bearing her weight.  He pushed on the tips of her ribs and felt dimples form where he met bone.  Bone, flesh, bone, flesh—structure and softness alternating all around her in a wide band.  Seath had studied the living for an age—but only now did he notice the loveliness of her frame, the efficiency of its coverings.  How fluidly she could move herself even with hard stone underpinning it all.  

And she was so warm…

Seath suppressed a jolt when he felt her hand grip his tail—and it was only then he noticed he had begun to wrap it around her front.  

The jolting feeling subsided as Gwynevere slowed her breaths and slackened her grip.  

“Is…this all right?”  Her breathing had slowed, but they were still shallow.  He could hear an echo of her counting in her head, keeping time and careful relaxation.

It was no longer startling to Seath when his tails were touched.  Most things that touched his tails were unexpected, whether it was Gwyn clapping them in some display of his camaraderie, the simple mistake of someone bumping them, or their inevitable collisions with various decorative objects.  

But it was new to Seath that his tails were the focus of such rapt attention.  Gwynevere was staring at the one around her waist.  Seath could not tell _whose_ curiosity impelled her to start moving her hand, but it seemed they shared the desire.

Gwynevere started to stroke near the tip.  She was so soft at first that Seath could only feel the touch through _her_ fingers.  Then she opened her hand and moved farther down his tail, lengthening her strokes until they could only be called pets.

The sensation was pleasant enough, if weak.  Seath flexed so he rubbed against her wrist, and circled the tip until it rested on her thumb.

Gwynevere blushed.

 _Is something the matter?_ Seath, through her eyes, saw her vision narrow and flicker down.

“No, nothing of the sort…”

Her stomach _shook_ when she took her next breath, and she stared at the tip of his tail.

Her lower abdomen fluttered, and a rush of blood and feeling followed, down, down, down…

His tails?  Curious.

He flexed one, experimentally. 

Seath was rewarded with a rush of pure synchronization—not the ticklish echoes at the edges of their souls, but a direct line of sight to her thoughts—to her body.  It made her thighs tense and twitch so her sex rubbed against them.  He could feel a deep, groaning ache growing inside her, emanating out from the pit of her stomach.  She was…apprehensive—but _she_ called it _nerves_ , what a clever phrase; he _knew,_ felt _her_ word for the feeling even though her mind was quiet.

He also now knew that she had thought about this before.  A younger Gwynevere had studied beside him, lain awake at night, drifted off at court—and thought about Duke Seath—teacher Seath—and if he too had a fire in his body, the aching need to be touched, did he have a cock like the other men who had known her, did he hold his special servants with those tails…

The moment passed as quickly as it came, the wave of pleasure and knowing receding back to a quieter thrum.

Gwynevere was panting.  Seath felt blood rush into her face and neck, felt a short tightness in her chest that eased when he began to speak.

 _It seems that I am the one who has kept you waiting, your Highness._   Seath saw her staring up at his jaw from her seat on the Archive’s floor.  Seath felt her throat begin to dry from breathing through her mouth.  Her tongue on her lips, moistening them.  Her throat closing and contracting as she swallowed.

“I want…I _do_ want to help you.” She let out a gentle laugh.  “Healing is my province.  … My curiosity does not have to play a part in this, your Grace.  It…rarely has a place in my duties.”

 _You call me Seath in your thoughts.  And you forget, Princess, that you are my pleasure.  I have no carnal desires to satisfy, nor maladies to remedy as your knights and your charges do.  Your curiosity is all I desire_.

Gwynevere’s throat felt like she had swallowed ice and it had met steam.  Like a bolt of lightning dancing up her neck.  She shook when she inhaled next.  Her hands quivered.

Seath wrapped his other tail around to rest against her right hand.  He coiled it lightly around her wrist.  She took them both and wrapped her arms around her waist, leaning into his abdomen for more touch.

She brought her wrist with his tail up to her face, and Seath saw her vision tip from side to side, peering at his tail, admiring the soft pink and blue reflecting off the white.

She inhaled sharply, as if she were going to speak but then could not get the words out.  But Seath heard them inside her head.

_Please let me touch you, Seath._

Gwynevere had long ago wondered if he had fire in his belly; she should have her answer now, if the link was as keen as Seath believed.  Heat pooled in his chest and prickled along his skin; he waited, wondering what it was she wished to touch so badly…

She must have felt his approval, for she began to stand, then turned to face him.  

She missed the weight of his tails when she stood.  So he wrapped them neatly around her ankles.

She wasn’t even startled—she had felt his intent, as Seath now felt hers.  He remained motionless as Gwynevere reached out her hand, first up from her side, then out towards his chest.  She stretched her fingers as they got closer and closer until she splayed them against his chest, laying them across the front of his ribs.

She pressed the tips of her fingers, and Seath felt her surprise at the easy give of his cartilage instead of the bone she had expected.  But he could almost see the pieces coming together in her mind—no teeth, no bones…no scales…and how easily he could curl his tails, the sharp bow of his neck…she held images in her mind where he contorted, folded his torso near in half, twisted his tails in every which way—and then suddenly _she_ was in them as well, fitting neatly among his limbs, body lying snug where he was bent…

Oh, he _could_ do that, couldn’t he?  He saw where that image of hers had come from—he was wrapped around her just like he would the Archives, whose arches and pillars had been constructed to that he could climb them with his tails as easily as he could fly to his destination.  His tails did not hold so much as they constricted her, leaving his forelegs free for…hm.  

Gwynevere must have heard him—her cheeks flushed, and her hands tensed, and the image was no longer in her mind.  She brushed her hair behind her ears.

“…you can?” She said quietly.

It was a bold move, but a question like _that_ begged for a demonstration.  In response, Seath began hover, just a couple meters off the ground.  He untangled his other tails from Gwyenvere’s ankles, and stretched them out from his sides to their full length.  Then, he brought his center tail out from under him and bent it back and forth, first into small turns, then into many coils like a spring.  Finally, he slid it along his underbelly until was flush against his torso—the base folded in a neat curve around his abdomen, and the tip resting near his elbow.  Through her eyes, he saw her gaze follow every motion.  He folded his wings and rolled into one slow flip through the air before landing with a quiet thump in his usual position.  

Gwynevere’s mouth was slack, but it soon broke into a wide smile as Seath’s tails rewrapped themselves around her, first around her feet, but then they crossed behind her knees and wound up to her waist.  

“Mm, ah… wait, I,” she wiggled her hands free from his roving trails and started to unbutton the top of her dress.  She popped the first three buttons before she asked, “Please say you have no visitors planned today?”

_Nothing._

“Oh, thank the flames…” She finished her bodice in short order.  

Seath rarely gave notice to the fashions of the two-legged peoples.  Without his Channelers, clothes were entirely meaningless.  But in Gwynevere’s body, Seath now felt he understood the need for…coverings when he felt cool air brush over all the new skin, her chest, her breasts, all the way down to her stomach.

Seath had little time to examine the sensation, for Gwynevere was already reaching for her legs, reaching underneath her skirt to work at the clasps of her stockings.  

But Seath did not wish to wait any longer.

He _leaned_ into the link—not pushing, just…suggesting—and she stopped what she was doing to mutter, “Oh never mind,” and tugged all her remaining garments down, stopping at her hips to wiggle them past Seath’s tails.  Her skirts fell into a pool at her feet.

Bare skin was so _sensitive_ —just like flesh without scales, he supposed—just sliding his tails sprang gooseflesh up her arms, and when he tightened his grip, she _gave,_ so soft around her abdomen and thighs.  

Gwynevere gasped, and Seath drew her closer until her chest was flush against his.  Her hair slid along his ribs, and the hot skin of her cheek rested against the round of his shoulder.  Seath swiveled his head down, then forward, bringing his snout to her jaw.

As soon as he touched her, her mouth sprang open in a gasp, her breath warm and wet on his skin, and his snout rubbing little tingles and tickles on the muscles of her neck.  She stumbled as she arched her back, but Seath… _pushed_ back her other leg and reached out his forelegs to catch her before she consciously noticed her trip.  

The link.  It was…nearly seamless.  Or at least it _seemed_ that Seath could feel everything.  At the very least, his confidence in the link was settling—Gwynevere did not seem able to sense his small manipulations, and it lent a certain…liveliness to the encounter.  While he could not command her as he would with a Channeler, Seath _could_ exaggerate what was already there.  Slip into little unconscious grooves in her mind.  As long as he did not overstep—as long as he followed the paths _she_ made—he would be above reproach.

 _I believe your Highness had a request?_ He started to extend sorcery around her, guiding it through his tails such that when he began to hover, she floated up with him.

She let out a surprised laugh and threw her arms around his neck.  She clutched at him for a moment, before she relaxed into his grip.

“Oh!  You… This…” _Your sorcery—I know you said it powered your motion, but I never…_

It was a bit odd to _hear_ someone else in his mind—the Channelers just… relinquished their perceptions.  But Gwynevere’s voice, all keen and sweet, echoed like a lost thought in his brain.

 _Yes, it is no more difficult than moving along the ground_ he replied.  _Sorcery can nullify many limitations.  Much as you have just done_

She froze, then her eyebrows sprang up, and her face broke into a delighted smile.  

“I did it!  I stopped speaking, and I did not even notice…”

_You did._

Her hands were on the arch of his neck, and her fingers were laced around its tendrils, and her face was very, very close to his muzzle.  Seath, slowly, began to tilt back so that Gwynevere started to lean, then lie down on his chest as he leveled them flat.  Her legs fell to either side of his tails, so that she straddled the swell of his abdomen.

 _If you have time for a brief lesson…_ Seath touched her cheek with his snout and she leaned closer, a short laugh on her breath, _Now?_ He nudged along her jaw line so she exposed her neck to him.

 _Yes. I want you to show me that image again_.  He punctuated the thought with a tap at her mind, willing her slight hesitation to subside.  _Deliberately._

“Is that…more difficult?”

_Slightly.  You are capable._

He felt a smile creep onto her face before she set her mouth and said, “All right.”  She closed her eyes—understandable, if vexing to him; he was getting used to her vision more quickly than he had expected—and…

Well, she was focusing.  But Seath could not sense anything. 

_You do not have to try, your Highness.  Remember, the magic is in the soul—in the will.  This is even more apparent in the mind.  Want it, and it will come.  Follow my thought.  Then show me what you want._

Gwynevere blinked her eyes open, timidly at first while she drew in a deep breath, then she looked down at both of them, where her breasts and stomach had started to flatten from pressing against Seath’s torso.  The sight pleased her—and so it pleased him—he could feel blood rise to fill her skin.

“I…I want…”

_Show me_

_I want you to fuck me_ and there it was, the image she had of Seath with his tails wrapped around her, one forefoot behind her head.  She was lying face down on his floating body, and he was coiled, tight as a spring, with his head next to hers.  His flanking tails curled over her legs and waist, holding her open so that his central tail could fit inside her.

Just the thought made her breathe faster and shallower.  She started to rub her hips on him and squeeze her thighs to rock up and back, catching her labia so they spread, smearing wetness over his skin.  

Seath did not even pause to respond to her; he rubbed his tail up along his underbelly, slithering until he met Gwynevere’s flesh—hot, slick and pulsing.  

She wiggled her hips back towards him and let out a little moan, pushing his tail forward so that he was cradling her sex, the tip lying at the top, where her vulva started to spread.

Gwynevere giggled.  Seath paused.

 _I’m sorry—you just sound…so…scientific._ “Would you please say ‘my cunt’ instead?  …I feel—mm, ah…—feel like I’m a part…of your research notes.”  She had started to rub against him in little circles while she spoke, and she was having trouble controlling her breath.

_Easily done, your Highness.  Is it profane, after all, if the Goddess herself wishes it?_

She swatted at his shoulder, and let out an imperious scoff.  But the royal effect gave way when it changed into a long moan.  “ _Your_ Highness tires of …Ooah…you…your mockery!  Teasing me _now_ of all times…” He felt her look at his face, but she hesitated and closed her eyes instead, drawing their attention to…her cunt.  

His tail felt her heat, but with her, he could feel the raw nerves of her clitoris, and the thump of her heartbeat pumping faster and faster in her swollen flesh.  _Please, Seath._

He drew his tail back, pausing to _press_ at that exquisite bundle of nerves she had, then moving down to catch on her soft lobes of skin, until he felt a dip, a _hole_ , and a taut, thin line of muscle.  _There_.  He circled the tip of his tail, surprised at how…small she seemed.  But Gwynevere was already panting, and she kept arching back towards him.  Her mind was blank.  She was so focused on the tiny motions he was making, so focused on wanting _him_ that he could feel she was nearly beyond speech.  So he pushed.

Seath was paralyzed for a moment, because her cunt felt like it was pushing him away, but every other part of her was screaming _more, deeper, Now, please..._ so he breached her entrance, and Gods she whined, and he felt her face twist into a gasp. 

It was better than _seeing_ the rapture on her face because he _knew_ it instead, he felt her jaw working and he _knew_ she wanted him to go deeper—he knew that this sensation was familiar to her, was _good_ to her—and yet he could not ignore the feeling of invasion he sensed—of penetration.  He was stretching her, pushing her open from the inside.

Gwynevere moaned and pressed her toes against his sides so that she could bear down on his tail and draw him in deeper.  He let her push back on him and she let her head fall down, her cheek dropping to his chest and her shoulders hunching forward to meet it.  The angle lifted her hips up and tilted her back down so he could just _lean_ into her until her cunt was completely full.

Gwynevere twitched and moaned, then tightened her fingers on his chest.  Her throat was working _hard_ —the last attempt of her conscious mind to control the fits her body was making.  

Seath noted—with only a little hysteria—that he too was not quite in control of his limbs.  They wanted to climb her like ivy, squeezing her thighs, grasping her waist, pulling at her hair.  He couldn’t get enough skin, enough touch.

Gwynevere dropped her hips to grind against his stomach, and Seath began to feel the familiar tendrils of her orgasm build low in her gut.  He pulled his tail out from within her—thinking to rub the tip through her folds to give the friction she so obviously desired—but when he popped free from her cunt she whined, high and needy, then growled, “Gods, you must seek to kill me, do not stop, please, not now…”

He slipped back inside her.  She arched into him and clenched around his tail, sliding it out of her cunt, then pushing herself down to thrust back.  

Another time, perhaps, Seath would feel every soft ridge inside her—probe every depth with slow care—but now, she was growing frantic.  She was pulling Seath deeper, her cunt sucking his tail, and he could not focus on anything except Gwynevere and her exquisite flesh.

Seath felt tingling spikes dart up her spine and through her hips; she was close.  She felt different than she had in the woods, however.  She had been desperate, then, from the very beginning—already swollen and needy.  Feeling her come had been as easy as spilling a full cup of water: one tip and she was gone.  But now her orgasm seemed to ebb and swell from deep inside her, building strong and gradual like a summer storm.  Instead of sharp pangs and sharp nerves, there was stretch—the thickness of his tail teasing and squeezing drops of pleasure to the surface with every stroke. 

 _More_.  She had only mouthed it against his chest, but he heard the want echo in their minds.  He grabbed her hips to keep her in place and put some force into his next thrust.  

He drove his tail into her and she whimpered.  He pushed again, harder this time, filling her up until he met the firm edge of her womb, and she _whined,_ squeezing his sides with her thighs.  He was so _deep_ it was almost painful to him, but Gwynevere loved it, letting out high, cut-off moans each time he bottomed out.  He quickened his pace, letting her loll against him, boneless and open. Seath could feel her whole body tense and coil each time he fucked back inside her.  

“I’m going…ooh, I need,” she whispered and Gwynevere pulled her hand down between their bodies and started to touch herself.  She started to pinch _hard_ around her clitoris, which made her cunt twitch and pull on his tail.

Before Seath even thought about what he was doing, he yanked her arm away and pinned it to her side.  _No, I think I will take care of that, Princess_.  Gwynevere froze for a moment, breathing hard, but relaxed again and fluttered her eyes closed when she realized what he intended. 

He wrapped his outer tails around her thighs and flipped Gwynevere on her back, legs spread wide.  He popped his central tail from her hole then nestled it into the curve of her waist.  He inched the tip down from her navel, over her belly and mound, then through her slick cunt and back inside her, letting her grind against his tail as he fucked her again in earnest.  

Seath felt like he was beginning to acclimate to this new role of lover—to the singular focus it required.  That all of his magical connections—so often scattered among Channelers, and projects, and maintaining his own body—were all riveted to Gwynevere.    There was more clarity to the sensations he was coaxing from her, their strength fading from paralyzing to vigorous.  

Then, Gwynevere opened her eyes. Seath almost didn’t notice it, given how concentrated his attention was.  But when he saw what she was looking at, heat burned through his chest.  She was looking down at herself—her chest rising with her breath, his tails coiled around her split legs from ankle to hip—and his central tail, pale and smooth, buried to the hilt inside her.  He had _felt_ it, of course, but the sight, the _sight!  Her_ sight.  It was nearly as erotic as the act itself, seeing his tail surface then disappear in her body over and over again.  Seeing her stomach quiver.  Watching her hips wind and jerk around the thickness of his tails, working to keep herself spread wide.

A pure, voracious hunger rose inside him, a strange, electric emptiness that begged to be fed.  Filled.  He seized Gwynevere with his forelegs, one at her waist, the other on her shoulder.  He bent his neck until he was just above her, craning his head down, drawn closer to the source of his appetite.  All stray thoughts fled, replaced with the overwhelming need to hold—to _have_ the sight before him—the body and power before him.  Uncontrollably, his tail went rigid inside her; his forelegs and abdomen, tense.

Gwynevere went silent, then taut, then came with a choked sob, flooding them with blinding pleasure, her cunt pulsing, wringing around his tails; his tails tensing and twitching, squeezing out her fluids until his stomach was slippery.  

Seath twisted his tail inside her, still acting on pure ravenous instinct, trying to clear the last throbs of frenzy from their bodies.  Gwynevere shuddered.  Her cunt spasmed and clenched around his tail again several times, milking the last pulses of ecstasy from their nerves until she was drained.  

Though Gwynevere was still panting, her mind was quiet.  Her eyes were unfocused and scanned over the upper floor’s bookshelves.  Seath could still feel her cunt stretched around his tail, the muscle around her hole aching just on the edge of pain.  

They lay together, still and silent, for just a few short moments. Then Gwynevere slipped her legs out from his tails’ grip, reached her arms up, and yawned into a great smile.  She shook out her feet daintily, one at a time, then slackened on him, the tension in her stomach finally loosening into rest.  Gwynevere shifted her hips in little mincing turns, easing herself off his tail bit by bit until the tapered end slid free with one last squirm.  

Cool air hit his central tail, and Seath curled it around her ribs, not yet willing to give up her heat.  Gwynevere giggled and laid her arms on his tail like an embrace.  She looked up at the underside of his head and neck, still close to her eyes, and reached up to press a short kiss to his snout.  

“Was I… …Was that to your liking, Seath?” Her eyes were still fixed on his jaw.  Seath was truly perplexed by her uncertainty, and was about to say so—but he felt a little quiver under her lungs and sensed no humor in her query.  

 _You are a delight, your Highness_ he thought instead, and let himself relish the smile that spread across her face and the warm flutters that rose in her stomach.  

 _And as it seems we have both assuaged our…apprehensions about the events of the ritual…_ Gwynevere had turned over onto her stomach, now, and was listening with rapt attention.  _May I assume that you will be resuming your studies with me?_

For some puzzling reason, this made her laugh, even though she kept a somber expression.  “Yes. That would please me, your Grace.”  She sat up and placed her hand on her chin, before starting slowly.  “I have no intention of diminishing my studies after I have come so far.  My avoidance—I apologize that it has shaken your trust in my dedication to the soul arts.”  Then, the grave line of her mouth loosened, and she cocked an eyebrow.  “I suppose I will have a considerable amount of work to do to offset my absence.”  

How absurd.  The Sun Princess was an ideal pupil and diligent nearly to a fault in the execution of her duties.  But he very much enjoyed feeling the fog of coitus dissipating from her mind like the clear ring of a bell; Seath swore he felt her resolve harden behind her ribs, and the airy buzz in her head sharpen into focus.  So he let her finish before responding.  _I suppose you will, your Highness.  However, there is, of course, no time like the present._

Her eyes widened and her second eyebrow sprang to join the first.  Then, she chewed at her tongue for a moment, images of Anor Londo flashing through her mind—Court, her receiving line, some meeting with many men around a wooden table—they must have been her tasks for the day.  She dismissed one by one.  _I shall have to send word,_ she thought—Seath couldn’t tell if she meant to have him hear, so he waited silently— _but I can tarry awhile yet._

“You know, you are right, your Grace.” She swung her legs over to his side and leapt down to the floor, then went to gather her dress.  “But…Ah…Hm…”  She rested a fist against her jaw, and turned to look back at him.  _How do we…I mean…will not the link hinder our work?_

With Gwynevere no longer lying on his midsection, Seath rotated until he was upright, then landed on the floor with a soft thump.  _An astute question, Princess.  But no.  It should have no more effect on our work than the use of my Channelers does.  …Unless, of course, you wish to terminate the link?  It is quite a simple process._

She had slipped on the sleeves of her dress and was beginning to button the top of her bodice.  The buttons were smooth and cool on her fingertips, and the layers of her skirts brushed against her legs and ankles.  Seath already missed the air on her naked skin.

 _Then…perhaps we can wait a while… I admit, I am curious to see the link’s effects on my soul perception.  I may even be a match for your talent, your Grace_.  She gave him a sly smile over her shoulder.  _Shall we?_

Seath swished his tails and let her feel his satisfaction at her choice. 

_Then let us begin._


End file.
